Totally Arbit

2011-05-19T15:13:00.011+05:30

BWAHAHAHA!

I've had half a dozen friends texting to remind me that the big day is now not far off.

Here's what is causing (mock) distress at the other end of the world ;)

2011-01-25T01:49:00.004+05:30

MESS WITH 'EM, AND IT SHALL GET MESSY.

The creatures in my life have always found a mention here. Today's not-quite-escapade deserves an entire writeup, considering it is the lord and master of all things disgusting. Brrrr.

I was at my regular bus stop, waiting for one of the Express buses to come along. I was late and hopping mad cause I'd probably missed the 8.30. I found myself a shady spot to wait and avoided the queue.

A while later, I thought I felt something drop on me. Not spotting anything unusual on me or around, I ignored it. Within a minute, I saw a twig drop on my shoulder and brushed it off. Then another one fell. Considering there was no breeze, it puzzled me. I looked hard at the last one, lying next to my foot. It appeared to be a little reddish, and had some stuff on it. Weird.

I squinted at the branches of the tree above me and spotted a crow, fidgeting. I looked for a nest and didn't spot one. As I looked harder at the crow, it dawned on me. It was fidgeting with what looked like a carcass. What had fallen on me were bones. With little bits of meat and blood on them. From a carcass badly mangled.

I'm taking a zillion showers and skipping lunch. I'm never taking panga with the crows again. They may be pointy-beaked, noisy and you may want to throw a big fat shoe at them when they wake you at 7 am on a Sunday.. but remember, they always get back at you. And believe you me, there shall be blood.
(And if you look carefully, a triumphant smirk in those beady eyes.)

2010-08-16T22:27:00.011+05:30

A YEAR'S DISAPPEARANCE.. AND A YEAR OLDER. YOICKS!

I've kinda fallen off the face of my blog for a while now.. so much so, that I do not even remember the fonts, sizes and colour that I'd decided upon when I last wrote.

Is it because I do not have proper access to the internet? Tch tch, I'd probably get slaughtered by most people at work if I said that out loud, considering it is my desk that that world plonks itself at if they want to access Facebook, Yahoo, Hotmail.. and any other site that the company would consider to be a distraction from work :) (Fairly) Unrestricted internet access comes with my job, but it pretty much strips the joy from Facebook and the rest. Sigh.

So what else have I been up to in the past year?

I've moved back to Bombay (Yayy!), and half-died travelling from one end to the other each day (fine, I'll say it.. I'm old and my bones creak! There!)
I've taken over another profile at work and I want more out of it now. The attention span of the aged is a teeny tiny little microsecond, I'm telling ya.
I've put on weight. I'm told it comes with age. I climb stairs to be healthy and lose some of the chub. The bones from Point no. 1 protest.
I've travelled. A passport that was earlier used only for identification now proudly carries two stamps. It feels all grown up :)
I've grown cranky and crotchety.. and am apparently now a scary old dame :D
I'm now a TV Show freak. House, Castle, Bones, HIMYM, Coupling.. and I'm still open to suggestions. The Couch Potato and her Creakies (from Point no. 1) need to climb more stairs.

I've done more. But for the life of me, I can't jot it down cause my memory fails me!

2009-08-02T12:46:00.004+05:30

IT'S ICK BEING SICK

A million, tiny, evil li'l creatures hammer at the inside of my head. With each step I take, they object to motion by hammering even harder. They seem to be spreading throughout my body, which feels like it's a thousand years old and creaks with every breath.

I haven't had a fever in 5 years now. I was beginning to compare myself to Bruce Willis in Unbreakable, so it thwacked me hard and then took on a jeering note by playing hide-and-seek every few hours.

What irritates the most is that I'm bored. B.O.R.E.D. It's bad enough having had to cancel all weekend plans to be tied to your bed, but having no life whatsoever makes me wish some things could go my way.

People should log on to Facebook more often and keep changing their status messages for my entertainment. It's not fair that they've got better things to do. Bah.
I want to be sick enough to have to consume more Benadryl. It's tasty, and the alcohol content could make me happily silly in the head.
A peg on my leaky nose. I hate having to roam around with a handkerchief.
My sense of humour has gone a-missing. No amount of looking for it has borne fruit. Apparently, it has an aversion to the aforementioned kerchief.
I'm offered cheesy food just so that I eat something. I discover I have no interest. What is up with that?! :O
As I type this out, the pounding in my head begins again.The impish creatures have sensed that the kerchief is around. Methinks they're having a secret love affair, considering how they always attack me together.

For all those that read this, help a sick friend- get more active on Facebook and Orkut. In the meanwhile, I shall go look for my sense of humour under the bed.

2009-07-30T00:56:00.006+05:30

TWINKLE TOES

As I watched them twirl gracefully on the dance floor, I sighed. The chemistry was great. It was wholly impersonal- they were just two members from the same team who had style, grace, and a love for the dance floor. They looked like they were having fun.

I spent the rest of the evening trying to escape getting dragged to dance. It was not just my innate dislike of flashing lights, crowds and loud music.. I simply cannot dance. And when friends glare at me in disbelief, I can do all to convince except actually shake a leg.

All evening, I dodged and skirted probable Pullers, and even thus, I ended up waggling two fingers in the air before picking up a pretend phone call-- 5 times over the evening. Why did I waggle two fingers? Because I would assuredly fall over if I tried using my feet.

It is very difficult to appear graceful whilst struggling to keep upright with multiple left feet. I'm clumsy on a normal day-- I walk into chairs, bang my head unfailingly on the corners of shelves, drop my phone one zillion times each day. Put me and music together and there will be a spectacle. It is not possible to attain my level of dance-floor malfunction with just two clumsy feet.. there must be at least a couple more invisible ones down there which decide to spring into oaf-like action at the very beat of a drumstick.

Sigh. I wish I could twirl. I am not even in kiddie school anymore to be able to swivel in front of the mirror in a frilled frock without feeling sheepish. Any twirling I do will have to be in a room full of pillows to prevent serious damage. As for the dance floor, twirling will not just be a spectacle, it will most definitely be a swinging-shinging debacle.

2009-05-26T02:57:00.007+05:30

TAGGED

Tagged by G, I’d thought I would write.. but it was a book-tag, and I hadn’t read a new author in years. I tried to go about it as the tag instructed: "Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag up to 15 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing what books my friends choose."

I realised 15 was five too many. It took me a good half hour to come up with these ten, and that’s after showing remarkable restraint, because all I really wanted to put down were Georgette Heyers.

Regency Buck- Georgette Heyer: Lord Worth, my all-time favourite hero. Dashing, suave, and a veritable dish. Correction: Fictional hero, damn.
Arabella- Georgette Heyer: Mr. Beaumaris.. much smoother, just as dashing, and equally rich.. but missing Worth’s Je ne sais quoi.. and I’m not dangling after a title :)
Pride & Prejudice-Jane Austen: Not for Darcy, definitely not. But my first old-world romance, thanks to an English teacher we called Gonlu :)
And Then There Were None- Agatha Christie: The first book that sent a chill down my spine and made me peer from behind the curtains into the darkness outside with every expectation of being murdered. And while there are those who would love to remind me that I fell asleep whilst reading the climax, I maintain that I was scared unconscious.
A book on Versace which was a gift from across the seven seas: Remarkably special. And not just because it tapped into my interests.
Right ho, Jeeves- P.G.Wodehouse: "the stars are God's daisy chain", and "every time a fairy blows its wee nose a baby is born" hehe :)
Bombay Deco- Sharda Dwivedi & Rahul Mehrotra: A book on Art Deco in Bombay from the 1930s, with glimpses of an old-world Bombay that held me spellbound.
Enid Blyton: and I can’t pick just one book.
Archie comics: To which my dad attributes all my knowledge, or lack thereof. It’s meant to put me to the blush :)
Timeline- Michael Crichton: The only science fiction which I didn’t fall asleep in the middle of.

While some of these popped into my head because they thrilled me, there are those that occupy memories, even though I haven’t read them in years.

I’m tagging people who I know read, who read my blog, and those with particular connections to the above. G, you get tagged for.. well, timepass :D Here you go, and people, please write, I could do with the Entertainment!

Deepbluesea & daviejones, thefirstidiot & kookygoblin (may this make you get back to blogging!), DSK, Monika (enough incentive to start?), Shaunak, Dinesh, Ritesh- A second tag in case you’d like to write about Asterix!

A special dedication: To Ma, who introduced me to Georgette Heyer—who makes me less cynical, even if only for a while :)

2009-03-18T02:32:00.007+05:30

BEE ATTACK

Curled up on a dining chair,
Unable to sleep
She was ending up counting a mountain of bees
Instead of numbering her sheep.

They'd attacked her on her comfy bed,
Under her cozy blanket..
She killed 7 within 15 minutes
So antagonized she felt.

They'd taken over her bedrooms
They fancied her lights and lamp..
Shunned to the bare living room,
She dreamt fitfully of the Bee base camp.

"Look at the small pile of dead bees
How much bigger it could become.."
The hunted woman felt a spark of evil
Thinking of how Hit affected bees like Rum.

The tipsy pile she picked up
And bore it outside the balcony door.
She'd fought frogs, lizards, monkeys and mice
But bees, never before.

The animal kingdom, she ruefully thought,
Who knew what next it would bring..
Attacking thus far with creepy-crawlies and varmint
It had never before deployed The Sting :(

Banishing thought and bad rhyme,
Determined: the battleground she would not flee!
The morrow's light, she felt, would bring answers
To bee or not to bee.

2009-02-04T00:41:00.001+05:30

[man-i-kin]

In Bombay for a three-day weekend, I’d decided to make full use of the opportunity to shop my way to being a penniless pauper, brought to ruin by discount sales. I took my spirited mother along, promising her a fattening lunch after the spree.

We hadn’t bought much when we got to Lifestyle—I’d been prevented from buying three pairs of shoes by feet that were far too large. We spent a while looking admiringly at sarees that were too expensive and salwar suits that could look good only on mannequins, and then wandered into the Men’s section. After debating on a dignified Allen Solly for a bit, we decided to scour our surroundings.

Peering at the piles, I decided I didn’t like too much. While thinking I'd give the section a last chance, I was looking around cursorily, when I stopped suddenly. I was very, very distracted by a mannequin sitting atop a clothes rack. His royal-blue shirt had its sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow, and he stood with his hands behind him, in polite deference. His greatest asset, however, were a particularly fine set of shoulders- they were broad, of the perfect width, and remarkably straight. They made him the most attractive thing in the Men’s section, despite being headless.

With a start, I realized that my jaw had dropped open, and I reluctantly tore my eyes away. Turning, I saw my mom watching me in amusement. As I lifted my chin defiantly, she said, grinning, “Oh, I can see what you see.. that’s one fine mannequin!” I stared at her, surprised, and looking around, caught the eye of another girl who gave me a knowing smile. Apparently, the mannequin had an adoring audience that went beyond just me and my mom. While others were coyer and much much more subtle than I was, I gave myself 30 more seconds of ogling and then tried to convince my mom that my wanting to buy the blue shirt was in no way influenced by his very manly shoulders.

I left the store without the shirt, at the side a very amused mother, and with the realization that a headless, bottomless statue had held me fancifully captive for a full fifteen minutes. Life was sometimes reminiscent of an Axe ad.

2009-01-18T11:31:00.002+05:30

“ONE, TWO, THREE... NINE, TEN.”

It’s been almost two years since I’ve had my maid work for me.. in perfect harmony for the most. She initially drove me nuts with her chatter at 7 am, and while a part of my grumpy behaviour was because I hate conversation before noon, the rest was because I couldn’t begin to fathom Gujarati spoken with a Nepali accent. Over time, we learnt to put up with each other.. I would manage a sleepy smile at the door and she would, well, shut up.

Today, she had been summoned on an exceptional spree, to the tune of Diwali-cleaning. Opening the door, I told her what was to be done and then went back to snoring. Awoken by her call what felt like a few seconds later, I went out to find her holding one of the legs of my dining table. And when I say Holding, I do not mean sitting under the table with her arms around it.. I saw her standing beside it, looking wonderingly at the piece of wood in her hands. How the table did not topple over is beyond me.

Then came the completely tangled, very vocal explanation. As realisation struck, I stopped gaping like a goldfish and glared as she plonked the leg into my hands. “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, coldly. “This has to be fixed. Now.” I ignored the convoluted explanation of how only a carpenter could salvage it and sat down on the floor, hoping that the table would continue to hold. All was not lost, and as I emerged, battle-weary, after a full 20 mins, we had a restored piece of furniture, one that only rocked playfully when nudged, but did not fall.

I kept a watchful, beady eye on her as she continued to work. A quarter of an hour and crash later, came the replay. This time, I held my favourite lamp, my eyes shut, trying hard not to tear out my hair in frustration. The lamp was a Mica legacy, bought for me from a Delhi bazaar by a friend, and had survived my very destructive self for over four years. As I dwelt on what the lamp meant to me, I decided that this was the outside of too much. I had put up with strangely dismembered tables, broken door handles, and beheaded statuettes in past with no more than a sound trimming; I was to be meek no more.

She left the house a while later, much subdued, having seen the sleepy headed creature of everyday turn into a sarcastic monster with wild gestures and a penchant for lapsing into English in the more uncontrolled moments. As for me, I sat down to blog after 20 minutes of dedicated, if distressed, careful action with scissors and cellotape.

It is not to my liking, this. Especially, not before noon.

2009-01-08T16:15:00.005+05:30

OH, TO SEE THE SEA! :)

When in Bombay, you know you can go take a peek at the sea if you really want to. It will take one hard battle in the train and then a journey to Worli seaface.. but at the end of it, you get to dangle your feet over the cement blocks whilst staring at an endless spread of waves with the evening sun beaming sleepily at you.

It is rare that I manage to catch a glimpse of the sea, being based in Gujarat. Having had to travel to Junagadh for a couple of days, we made use of the opportunity and visited the Somnath temple. The temple, beautiful as it is, was even more picturesque against its glorious backdrop. As I sat on a ledge, the tiny beach far below my swinging feet, I couldn’t help smiling. With the tiny boats dotting the horizon, the sun winking over the blue, blue sea, it reminded me of Worli, of college days, of friends now far away.. but of beautiful times from an era worthy of nostalgia:)

If it affects me thus, I wonder what happens to those who can actually swim? I wish they’d let our cameras in!

2008-12-28T11:07:00.003+05:30

THE APPLE, THE TOMATO AND THE CHEESE

It has been three weeks of non-stop consumption of either fruit or salad or both. Try as I might, I cannot like 'em.

While the world howled with laughter at the thought of me eating healthy food, they also admitted that no less a personage than a doctor could have pulled it off. From parents to friends, there has been such wicked glee on faces that they may as well have danced a thrilled li'l jig. The truant was finally being brought to heel.

Day One began with an apple. I glared furiously at it while cleaning it under the tap; but while that glare has made many quail, it does not, sadly, work on inanimate objects. I painfully worked my way around the core and was beaming, thinking I'd done a very good job on my first day as an Obedient, when a co-worker commented, "Good god, child, there's a complete inch around that core, don't waste it!" Gah.

Day Two required me to attack raw food. I stood looking mournfully at a cabbage, a carrot and a tomato, knife in hand. Deciding suddenly on the least of the evils, I pushed aside the rest and made a silent appeal to the tomato to go easy on my delicately nurtured taste buds. After 45 seconds of brisk slicing and 15 minutes of staring at sliced rawness, I stuffed a small bit into my mouth. 5 seconds later, I was spreading lavish scoops of mayonnaise over it all.

Since then, it has been a rollercoaster ride with the veggies. They don't like me, and I don't like them. They make sure they're inedible as possible, while I retaliate by chopping them ruthlessly to bits and then compromising their taste. However, we've finally managed to find some common ground: Cheese. We've decided we like any kind- plain milk cheese, garlic flavoured, peppery spread, you name it. The salad thinks it is compatible with it, and I know I'm in love.. and sure enough, we make a very content triangle.

One week or forever, may we ride into the sunset together, may we live happily ever after!

2008-12-16T23:03:00.004+05:30

MY LATEST FRIDGE MAGNET READS..

"There's nothing wrong with me that a little chocolate won't fix."

It makes sure I open the door and eat some :)

2008-12-05T20:47:00.001+05:30

SORDID.

I've had two bomb scares today.

First: A part of my mom's college campus is evacuated because there is Info. She doesn't leave, it isn't about her building.

Second: One of our office buildings, 2 kms away, is evacuated because of rumours. All leave.

I travel in the shuttle to the end of the road to the tune of the Final Countdown. Today, it sends a shiver down my spine.

It is a sordid thought that reeks of doom.

2008-11-22T12:57:00.003+05:30

"AWAARA HOOOOON!!"

I've never really been a big music buff, and I definitely know nothing about contemporary music. I some old English music, and any Shammi Kapoor song makes me want to skip and hop all over the place :)

On a lazy Saturday morning, I popped in an old CD I'd found when cleaning out my office space.. of a Film Festival from Hutch that captured films and their music from an era much, much before me. As I listened to Chaudhvin ka Chaand, it somehow brought back memories of sitting on the kitchen stool at my old home while my mom cooked to the oldies out by her tape recorder. Life was so much simpler.. I wore little tiny frocks, clung to my mother, got dragged to school, ran around on the playground, and slept without a care in the world.

The next song playing is Aaj Phir Jeene ki Tamanna Hai, and I can't help wiggling to it. I'm going to play all the Shammi Kapoor and Joy Mukherjee songs I've got after this, and I'm going to turn on Star Gold and wait for a mad, mad movie like Junglee to turn up. Yaahoooo!!!

2008-11-21T22:08:00.003+05:30

ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE

That's it. It's a Friday evening, and that's all I need.

How do I reach Three, Four to shut the door when I can't cross Two to bend over?!

I'm laaaaazie as the night is young :) Dum-di-dum-di-deee, I'm as noisy as a bumblebee!

2008-11-13T22:16:00.004+05:30

AN IDLE MIND IN AN EMPTY OFFICE

It's 10.30 pm and I'm waiting in office, all alone, for an AV to turn up. The biggest thrill in my week so far is that I've been granted a net connection for an evening because I urgently needed the ability to download. And while I know how sad that is, I also implore that nobody say it out loud!

Of the few things that happened while I idly waited, some struck realisation:

Nobody questioned/double-checked on whether all was okay with the AV. I was apparently considered dependable.
After a completely exhausting week, I'd wanted to go home early today. I'd wanted to shop for munchies, book tickets to movies to go to with my parents when they came here for the weekend, chill out in my pyjamas. I've done none of those. And I don't like the feeling that that's left behind.
I'm very excited about having my parents over :) I wonder if they get as excited if I'm home after a long time. Which, though, is rare :)
A conversation with a friend left me reminiscing about days gone by.. I know now, that however deep I may have buried the skeletons in my past, I shall never forget.

My AV is here. In many ways, I'm glad. Let sleeping dogs lie.

2008-11-07T23:46:00.008+05:30

THE HEART IS WISER THAN THE INTELLECT

..or so says my Orkut fortune.

I don't believe that simply because it has also told me all of the following in the past, which are, well, suspect.

"You will receive new clothes": Not only did nobody buy me anything, I did not buy me anything either. And you would expect me to have at least gone shoe shopping after having read that.
"You are going to learn something new today": My snort was most definitely heard outside my comfortable rut.
"You are sociable and entertaining": It gives me this on a weekend when I've locked myself in on Friday night and do not intend to open the door till Monday morn. Horror of horrors!

To conclude: If I'm robot-like unemotional, it's Orkut's fault.

2008-10-24T04:41:00.004+05:30

A 4 AM ZOMBIE

A few days of working 14-20 hours a day, and I'm physically and mentally zapped. Right now, I have the sense of humor of a dead doorpost and the IQ of a teaspoon. The feeling of complete exhaustion has hit me so hard that I can't sleep. At first, I killed time by filling bottles with water. Now, since I can't stand up any longer, I'm catching up with my life, trying to type fast with only one live hand.

While I spent 7 hours one night cluelessly editing an AV on Movie Maker for an arbit presentation, I've stood and stared all day at the mounting of an extremely rare signage on a construction site in the Ahmedabad heat on another day. Having learnt tonnes, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.. but I've also realised that the enthusiasm to learn can take one to freakish extremes of zombie-ness.

I also ended up discovering a few places and things to do which are very relaxing when one is completely stressed out.

At the top of the new office building: The terrace overlooks a few pieces of farmland.. very green, with lazy buffaloes with swishing tails. [While "Bhains ki poonch!" is a commonly used term at my workplace to exemplify the ridiculous, we now actually get to see the Bhainses and their Poonches :) ]. A place that soothing in the 4pm sun would be heaven whilst having to burn the midnight oil.
On the pot, at home: Saying that, I sound very unladylike, and more and more like my father.
Filling up water and folding clothes: I know somebody who finds extreme relaxation in brainless chores like separating onions and potatoes, socks and hankies. Today, I understand. I spent a good 15 minutes staring longingly at construction workers who were mindlessly breaking tiles. I also wondered if they envied the arbit girl who appeared to be doing nothing but standing around asking nosy questions about why there were so many freakin' wires with loose ends if the LEDs were connected in series.
Going on and on on one's blog: Is fun :)

I know and can foresee things that I shall get into deep shit about after Diwali, I have no time to deal with those now. I shall have more 20 hour days, more exhaustion and zero credit for successes, but I'm still climbing up the learning curve.. I'm a freckled zombie with the IQ of a teaspoon, but I'm a happy zombie:)

2008-10-07T23:13:00.003+05:30

WONKY, SQUEAKY AND ME

Pouring with sweat, I clenched my hair in frustration. I was standing on a wonky chair which was propped up on a spongy bed and peering into the bedroom fan.

I’d been awakened by strange noises all of a sudden one night, a week ago. Now, typically, nothing wakes me up. And I really mean nothing. But this was a high pitched, shrill squeak that was like irritating chalk on a blackboard. While I half-expected to have the entire thing fall on me, the other half of my sleepy brain told me it was a mouse stuck inside the fan, protesting. Between having the fan put a dent in me and rescuing an icky mouse, I chose to spend the night sweltering. The next day, all was well. Maybe it’d been a cranky night for the fan, or maybe the mouse just ran off.. out of the house somewhere to tell the tale of its day out.

This evening, it started again, much louder than before. It squeaked and squeaked, and squeaked its li’l plasticky lungs out, driving me out of my mind. It was time for Action.

I dragged a chair from the dining table and onto the bed. I still wasn’t tall enough to get a good look. My three inch heels came on next. I was finally in a position to poke around the insides. As I flashed the light from my cellphone, I was dismayed to find a whole lot of wire-crap. Nothing was hanging loose that I could tape up! It was just a whole lot of dusty wires with a funny looking motor-thingy. I did notice that the ceiling-hole-blocking thingy had lost a screw-- maybe that was rubbing against the top thingy and thus being noisy? I scrambled for some cello tape and scissors, and was soon snipping of huge bits and sticking it to the ceiling. As I stepped back to look at my handiwork, I patted myself on the back for having been fairly neat.

With bated breath, I flipped the switch. A couple of tens of seconds passed, with only silent whirring. The feeling of victory was just taking over the frustrated soul when it started, yet again, and with more vigor than ever before. I gave up. I needed help. I'd poked, prodded and even fed it oil from a spoon like a baby, and it wouldn't give in.

I am now out of my bed, roomless and sleeping on the floor. If anybody dares remind me at this point that I am an Instrumentation engineer, I shall wail like the banshee in my fan!

2008-08-29T00:20:00.002+05:30

"WOLF, WOLF"

There once was a shepherd boy who was bored as he sat on the hillside watching the village sheep. To amuse himself he took a great breath and sang out, "Wolf! Wolf! The Wolf is chasing the sheep!"

The villagers came running up the hill to help the boy drive the wolf away. But when they arrived at the top of the hill, they found no wolf. The boy laughed at the sight of their angry faces.

"Don't cry 'wolf', shepherd boy," said the villagers, "when there's no wolf!" They went grumbling back down the hill.

Later, the boy sang out again, "Wolf! Wolf! The wolf is chasing the sheep!" To his naughty delight, he watched the villagers run up the hill to help him drive the wolf away.

When the villagers saw no wolf they sternly said, "Save your frightened song for when there is really something wrong! Don't cry 'wolf' when there is NO wolf!"

But the boy just grinned and watched them go grumbling down the hill once more.

Later, he saw a REAL wolf prowling about his flock. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet and sang out as loudly as he could, "Wolf! Wolf!"

The villagers thought he was trying to fool them again, and so they didn't come. The boy lost many of his sheep.

Dear old inspired Aesop. He must have worked in Telecom.

2008-07-05T23:05:00.000+05:30

AND TODAY..

.. a full-grown, adult monkey sat in front of my door, staring at me. To think I live in an apartment on the 6th floor in the midst of a large city.

The Animal Kingdom really has it in for me. This is what comes of having slept through Biology.

2008-07-01T23:55:00.003+05:30

HIT!

Over the years, I've caught many a creature creeping around my bedroom.. the four-legged type, and the multiple legged type. They don't seem to comprehend a glare like the two-legged ones do :S

Tonight, it was a cockroach. As I plodded around my lovely bathroom feeling squeaky clean with scrubbed feet, I saw it crawl out from a corner. It had blocked the exit. I knew not what to do, I knew not where to hide!

As it crept past the door and under the basin, good sense prevailed. The vision of the bottle of Hit sitting in one corner next to the broom flashed before my eyes. I had to get to that, and all would be right with the world. I pulled up my pyjamas, took a flying leap out of the door, onto the bed, and then scampered toward my roach-killer.

Back in the bathroom, I couldn't spot it. Where was it hiding?! I decided a spray all around would do it good. As I squeezed my eyes shut and blindly sprayed the whole place, I saw it fly out and start flip-flopping. Now, one would think that I would have felt sorry.. but it only freaked me more as it flip-flopped its way closer. Its underbelly ain't pretty.

I left it lying there for a while, just to make sure it was really dead, and wouldn't suddenly jump up to boo me. I dug out the dustpan and broom, and braced myself. This was the part that brought me in close proximity with the arthropod. As I pushed it onto the dustpan, it decided to twitch its legs in an eerie parting shot. I flew, squealing, to the balcony and flung it out into the empty lot behind my house. The ordeal was over.

For all women who fear roaches and have to tackle them single-handed, here's some help:

Hit! is a life-saver. Keep multiple bottles in different parts of the house. You never know which exit it might block.
However obsessively clean you are, someday, one will turn up. Beware of Roach.
Know where your dustpan is at all times, even if your maid is the only one to ever touch it.
On the battlefield, tell yourself repeatedly that although you can't fly, you are bigger. You can take 'em.
Squeal all you want. It might go deaf and die. Whatever works.

Let them not get the better of you. Hit 'em all. If they're tiptoeing around your bedroom, they're probably up to no good ;)

2008-06-28T23:26:00.004+05:30

HAPPINEZZ..

..is a restaurant in Ahmedabad which has a red, neon signage. I haven't ever eaten there, but today I'm thinking of those really red, happy-looking letters. Because it suits my mood :)

I went to bed last night with a grin on my face, and I've woken up with one.. which is rare, considering I hate the morning sunlight even at 1 pm.

I've celebrated with blueberry cheesecake, mocha choco cheesecake, chocolate, shrikhand, and condensed milk from a can :)

I even tried hopping into mid-air to click my heels together, and was still left grinning when I ended up in a heap on the floor..

Like an idiot, I can't help but put in a smiley after almost each sentence, I feel like the bright neon.. it's all the magic of a letter with my favourite logo, stamped "Confidential", which beams at me from under my pillow :)

2008-05-31T15:14:00.006+05:30

VROOOOOM!

Does this make me look like an F1 fan? Well, I'm not. Not even a teeny, tiny bit. I can't fathom how people actually sit and watch, for hours on end, cars that go round, and round and roooound. And do little else.

(Suddenly wary..) Are there those waiting to throw eggs, right about now?

So then why this photograph?

Vodafone's having the McLaren Mercedes tour the country, and it has been at Ahmedabad for the past couple of days. As a part of the team that works towards it, I get to hang around it a lil more than the common man. I've been damn kicked about it, and simply because I wanted to get the two men in the family to go green in the face.

It does not seem to have worked, disobliging as they are. Maybe because they're Ferrari fans. Or maybe, it is no fun unless the machine is careening wildly across some track with crazy fans going Rah-Rah all the while. I managed to get a mildly interested "So what happened to your thing with the McLaren?" Bah, might as well have asked me if I'd brushed my teeth that day! Not that I need to be asked that, of course.

This is one of the final attempts to get them jealous. I want to gloat, damn it, and one can't gloat if nobody is jealous! My last shot is to send them the photograph that's got me sitting on the wheel. On, not behind. Hmm, I think one of me behind the wheel would really get their goat. Maybe I could sneak into the mall after all are gone..

Sigh. The things one has to do. Men, I tell you, are exasperating!

2008-03-20T03:38:00.002+05:30

WHERE ARE MY Zs?

I can't sleep. It's 3 am and the eyelids just won't droop. And they're not used to not-drooping, mind you. They are capable of drooping at the blink of an eye. In fact, they have been famous for doing just that. When old friends have been reproached for making statements like "Oh, you've got brown eyes!", they have bashfully pointed out that it has been difficult to even notice them in all these many years.

In an attempt, the blanket has been made to cover the shoulders, the nose and then the entire head. The nose ended up tickled, and that was all that happened.

Counting sheep has been tried. The mind then wanders from the sheep to Archie, because that is what he did. The picture then changed from simply sheep to Archie counting ugly comic-sheep. That didn't do it either, and now I want Jughead's hammock.

Plopping cold cucumber on lids hasn't helped.. The cucumber is now warm, but there is no sleep. It has been replaced by fresh slices along with a layer of potato. The stomach now rumbles, it dreams of a sandwich.

There's a crow cawing outside my window. It is now freakin 3.30 am, but it appears to be an empathetic soul displaying emotion. I suspect it to be the same crow that bugs me each morning at 9 am, currently worried that I intend to pre-empt it.

I shall go count stars now, and keep a hopeful shoe by my bed to throw at it in the morn. Gah.

2008-02-11T22:21:00.000+05:30

THE FEAR OF THE DRILL

I stared at the book on my lap with unseeing eyes. In weather that claimed to be 8 degrees, my palms were sweating. As I shrugged out of my jacket, I glanced around the room. Eight other people stared blankly around the tiny waiting area, some at the floor, a couple blankly into space, and an old man right at me. His deadpan expression scared me as I realised he was looking not at me, but right through me. Such was the fear of The Dentist Man.

The only other time I'd ever been to one was when I was a tiny brat who refused to remove her milk teeth, and had to go through four injections to attain her first toothless gap. He was the monster, the devil, Satan in a white smock! I was told that this one was different, he was a kind old soul with twinkling eyes and the softest voice, one who tried not to let the glint stainless steel feel like mortal peril..

People walked in and then walked out. I noticed- never a smiling face either time. Why was I subjecting myself to this? My molar had ached only for a few days a short while ago. I'd even scrubbed my teeth vigorously for twenty minutes before leaving the house, they felt clean and healthy in my head. They would have twinkled, sparkled and grinned toothily at me if they could have.

Jerked out of my reverie as my name was called, I walked in, dragging my feet. Three huge black chairs, multiple overhead lights, innumerable shiny death weapons, and one meek sacrificial lamb. I turned to look for Satanas, and was taken aback. This was him? This tiny, grey eyed, wizened little thing? Expressionless, though. Ah, the Sheep's Smock, I concluded.

Nervously, I introduced myself and confided that I was scared, I'd never been in a dentist's chair in so many years. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked, smiling. I told him. He could have anything he wanted as long as he didn't hurt me. "Open your mouth, please." I could see over the bridge of my nose that he had something in those slender, suddenly cruel, fingers. His eyes narrowed as he peered inside. I could feel the cold steel poking and prodding, checking here, and checking there.

After five unbearable minutes, he snapped the overhead light off, and said, "My girl, you can stop peeling the upholstery off my chair. There is absolutely nothing wrong with your teeth, they're in perfect shape." Eh? EH?! Then it sank in. My teeth were fine! He wouldn't taking the whirring instrument and treat me like a wall that required patchwork! He was such a dear old man, my angel from the heavens above!

I skipped out of the room and grinned at everybody. A smiling face was required, once in a way. The poor old man's reputation as a human was at stake.

Sometimes, I say, judge a book by its cover.. and and a kindly sheep by its wool :)

2008-01-16T02:58:00.000+05:30

CUCKOO

Delving deep into archives does my pride no good- have I really had thoughts so inane? I have been called Mental at/many times, but idiot enough to pen them down?

Nevertheless, I shall not delete and let them be.. they're memoirs of the more carefree and thoughtless days, where I wrote exactly what my head thought as my fingers flew over the keys. Where I didn't think, guard and measure before I wrote.

My mad, mad, free days. If I was off my rocker then, then I think I'm back on now. In exactly two minutes, I shall match the chimes and poke my head out of the window three times.

Cuckoo :)

2007-12-25T00:08:00.001+05:30

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES

A few days ago, as I plodded drowsily out of the lift, on my way to work, I almost fell over two fat little brown fur balls wrestling away at the gate. Young pups having a good time in the mild winter sun, without a care in the world.. they were tubby, round little barrels that could barely waddle.

As they realised that a dark shadow blocked the sun, two sets of melting brown eyes turned to look sheepishly at me. A paw darted out suddenly onto my foot, and then a cold nose started sniffing the straps on my sandals. As I tugged at the floppy ear to get him away, he lost interest in me and decided to gambol away with his tail in the air. Cheeky, I tell you.

Yesterday, as everyday, I looked around for them as I entered. I didn't see them. As I climbed the stairs, I spotted them sitting meekly under the bench, heads on their paws. I patted them on the head, to no response. I tugged an ear, and an eye opened and then shut, sadly, again. They were pining. I asked why, only to discover that there had been no sign of their mother for an entire day.

On my way to work this morning, I saw only my fat, once irrepressibly cheeky brat lying exactly where he'd been the day before. This time, even a tug on the ear didn't get an eye to open. His meek, shy sibling had disappeared.

He had all the sympathy in the world, he was showered with love by people all around. But he lacked the companionship of his kind, the security of his mother. Those melting eyes had lost their impish spark. He sat mourning, all alone.

Come evening, I found him still under the bench. I patted his tiny head for a bit, expecting no reaction. Turning to leave, I felt a small, wet lick on my finger. Surprised, I looked down into a soulful gaze. It was one that said, "I'm okay, thank you."

He wasn't fine, but he had hope. He didn't have family around, but he was loved. He couldn't yet fight, but he'd be a survivor.

One tiny little fur ball, but with guts to be admired.

2007-12-20T00:50:00.000+05:30

GRRR.

A frustrating day its been, if at all. This post is going to be an outlet for pent up fury and irritation. For those who can emapthize, Do! My misery loves company.

I work in an industry where Pace is everything- things are wanted as of yesterday even before they're remembered. I'm on a profile where anybody and everybody has an opinion, and the opinion cannot be ignored, because we aim to understand/please the common man. End result: I work long, crazy, exhausting hours, and apparently It could always have been done that "lil bit faster".

Frustration level at current moment: Supernaturally high.

On hitting gmail I find myself trying to login with my work id. What does that tell me? That my life is simply all work and no play. Whenever somebody asks me "What's new?" I've got no answer. Because nothing is new. It's dull and boring, but in a fierce way, I love it.

Frustration level: Still very high.

Pdfs are my fresh air. I hate jpegs. I've struggled to get Illustrator on my workstation and not succeeded. It has gotten stuck somewhere for some approval in some hierarchical layer. Frustration galore, because it would help me do my job better. And I'd like tinkering around with it.. I love Adobe :)

Frustration level: Not so high..

Superior output and quality is expected at all times. Not to mention pace. Considerations for struggle with an alien language (and that's an important part of Output) are never made. The eye for detail exists, but it is difficult to find fault when there's no comprehension. Nevertheless, it is a superb outlet for my maniacal obsession to get every fullstop correct:)

I'm somewhat content now, and of the opinion that Blogger.com is my good buddy.

In due course of all the madness that my daily life comprises of, I'm sure I drive many people crazy each day. Where I cause problems, I also try and provide solutions: Go blog!

And do it faaaast. *cheeky grin*

2007-11-04T00:31:00.000+05:30

EYE TO EYE

After having been in great sync all through a harrowing week, the body has decided to give up. Typing this post is difficult with one hand choosing fall sleep and one eye refusing to open. For a Ctrl+Alt+Del, I can't see the Ctrl on the left side of the keyboard with only my right eye, and the Del is at too difficult a distance for my stubby fingers..

(As the right side of Pirate One-Eye's brain contemplates how this is to be managed, the other side is fast losing interest. Nonsense, how is One to accomplish anything if there is no Team Spirit, it wonders, as it mentally tries to prod the Left)

........

(Silence. One-Eye, one hand and Half-Wit are asleep. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The motto has united..)

2007-10-24T20:08:00.000+05:30

*CROAK*

The ugly green shawl was famous during my post grad, having been carried, without fail, summer and winter alike. I had a penchant for catching colds in the AC, and thereafter sneezing everytime the prof paused for breath.

Skipping work today, I groan mentally. I can't groan out loud because I have no voice. Its been two days of alternately feeling hot and cold and there are only a few things I can think of.

How I hate stuff in the plasmatic state.
The box of chocolate icecream in the freezer that bewitchingly tweaks its fingers at me.
That the combination of hot water and salt is the most disgusting thing the poor tongue has ever borne.
Sleeping on your side unclogs one part of your head- only to clog the other.
That building a tissue pile is only fun till you realise how gross it is.
Trying to say Cold and not Code, and Sick, not Sigg.
Large doses of Benadryl that make everything seem roooosy.

I dislike having a cold *sniff* I hate having to sleep with my mouth open *honk* And I detest that I croak like a frog when I sing my favourite song. Oo, but I like that I can rhyme Frog and Song for a change. Sic!

2007-10-21T22:48:00.000+05:30

I'M SCARY

There are those who are highly bemused when others talk of me as a mild, simple girl. I would like to think I'm simple, uncomplicated.. but I know I'm not mild when I see those such as waiters and delivery boys scuttle even though I'm smiling at them. And then there are those who say I'm scary when I make presentations, when I'm actually quaking all through. Sigh. Think I'm sadly misunderstood..

Bu then there are times when it is necessary to frighten. Disclaimer: I do not go out of my way to exert my apparently unnatural powers, but also do not hesitate when the opportunity presents itself. One such did, the other day, at the Reliance Fresh next door.

I liked visiting the place for its fresh veggies, and discovered that they have a card thingy for frequent visitors. Now, as is typical, the card thingy is a dreary drag, but what is attractive is the home delivery system that it brings with it.

So I stood in the queue and filled out the bare minimum details of an awfully lengthy form. The wait had me in a fair way to losing my temper, and when the lad asked me to fill out the section titled 'Optional Details', I asked, "Really? Why?" He looked surprised, and told me they needed the details. I took a deep breath and pointed out, a tad curtly, that it said Optional. He said, "Nahi Madam.. aapko likhna padega."

I took a step backward and looked at him, predatorily. Puny thing, he was. I would not raise my voice. "Do you think I carry my pan Card with me when I step out in my track pants and a faded shirt to buy veggies? And do you really expect me to tell you my family's monthly income so that you can decide whether to deliver Rs 25 worth of veggies to my possibly ramshackle house? If so, you can please call your manager and tell him that I would like to speak to the cause of this irrationality." I wonder if it was the sarcasm, the fact that I asked for the manager, or the English spoken at full speed that scared him. The result was that he looked like he'd seen a ghost, and grabbed the sheet from my hand. He then told me that I would have no problem whatsoever with home delivery in the future, all the time probably hoping that I'd never show up there again.

I'm scary, I've been told. Sometimes, I use it to advantage and chuckle deep inside. When actually bloodthirsty, I think a glimpse of my canines would give me away. For all the other times, I insist I'm sadly misunderstood :)

2007-07-23T00:02:00.000+05:30

THE PIPER OF AHMEDABAD

It’s been about six months since I’ve lived alone in my rental place at Ahmedabad. I love the house, simply because it’s a real proper house. It has a table, beds, side shelves in the kitchen, curtains. It even has mirrors!

But living alone has big disadvantages. I came home the other day to discover that the washer on kitchen tap had gone phut. I mentally cursed my maid, for with all her rough ways, it had to be her fault, really. I knew I had no option but to deal with it- who else would? Having never ever tackled a leaky tap, I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. A resourceful friend advised tying a cloth around the tap, which I did. I managed to get the leak down to a drip- one drop every four seconds. Sticking a bucket under it, I went off to work, and scouted around for a plumber on the way.

As it happens, it is extremely difficult to find a plumber. Three days to no success. When I got home late one evening, my old neighbour came asking whether I’d left any tap open- he was checking because somebody in my line of flats had. Very decidedly, I told him No. One drop in four seconds did NOT count as an open tap.

The minute I shut the door, I rushed guiltily to the kitchen to tie the cloth tighter. It turned out that it didn’t like being tied just so, and decided to slip off. After 15 minutes of tying, untying and retying, I had red hands and sore shoulders. I decided to call up my father and apply all the possible Mechanics to figure out which knot would exert the most pressure on the top of the tap. He advised tying the cloth tightly around the tap twice and then wedging something between the tap and the cloth to make it even tighter. Three tries later when it didn’t work, I started screeching and yelling about differences between Theory and Practice.

After a heavily buttered Maggi to ward off Gloom, I tried yet again. I hunted for a cloth that was easy to tie. I thought I needed to fold the cloth neatly, so that the force was evenly distributed and no part of the cloth was loose. I tied a tight knot right on top of the tap. One drop every two seconds. I picked up a pen and wedged it between the cloth and the tap. Didn’t make much of a difference. I stuffed in a spoon. Then in went a fork. It was reducing. After a while, the frequency of drip reduced dramatically.

Then I brought out a clock. Timing, you see, is very, very important. My eyes kept darting from the clock to the tap and back. To my great pleasure, I’d reduced it to One drop in Thirteen seconds! My hands burned, my shoulders were aching and I was close to collapse, but as of 11 pm, I was happy.

With my hand on the light switch, I turned to smile fondly at my handiwork. It was pretty- even with the hideous, white and green polka dotted cloth wrapped round and with two pens, two forks, three spoons and a spatula sticking out.

2007-06-04T00:22:00.000+05:30

...

It's been 12 years since we first started taking our breaks together at school. We were typical schoolgirls: we had our little clique.. we gossiped, we giggled, we hung out every single day. We pretty much believed that we'd stay just as good friends for the rest of our lives.

A few years down the line, the clique drifted apart. Careers, interests.. our individual lives took over. One stuck around.

A little older, and another lasting friendship. When thrown together initially, we couldn't stand each other. But apparently, we could stand the others around us even lesser. Over 7 hours of classes every day, kicks under the table to keep eyes from shutting, scribble-talking through mornings, and we grew on each other.

The two have come almost every place I've been to. Some that I was proud of, others that I hated. But they came. They bore a stinky toilet in a hole of a house and travelled a 1000 kms to see it. They trudged across another state border for one last visit before leaving Bombay for good.

I've never had a way with words, but I've missed the ones that went off. I've made new friends, but nothing will trade the implicit trust that sparks even after years of no contact. I'll regret having been too busy to keep in touch, but I appreciate what is still around. I know that the blind faith of childhood still persists. I believe these will stick.

To G and A, and to many more chocolate cakes.. albeit with the forgotten candle :)

2006-12-11T01:43:00.000+05:30

CRUNCHED

After having been pathetically skinny and a tiny pint-sized thing till age 14, it was a very pleasant sight when I finally managed to cross 5 Feet. The millions of lines behind the bedroom door marking every millimetre proved how anxious I’d been. I was now taller, but still skinny. A few years later, after a hostel diet of Cheese Maggi and Icecream, getting into clothes was a problem. And it appeared to be snowballing.. new jeans had to be bought every few months.

A couple of days ago, I decided that this was the outside of enough. The good life was now a thing of the past. “Crunches” had to be performed.

Since I was a beginner, I decided to treat myself nicely. Only three a day were enough. After all, I was still only at “Pleasantly Plump”.

Gearing myself for a full minute of torture and gut-wrenching agony, I kept my feet together, my fingers laced behind my head, and tried to raise myself.

Funny. Apart from my head, nothing moved from position. I’d try again.. with more zeal, more enthusiasm, I thought. Gritting my teeth together, I grunted. This time my shoulders moved a little. This process appeared to be much more difficult than I’d heard. After five minutes of contemplating whether or not I needed a nap to overcome the exhaustion, I decided that one last try would probably finish me off.

The third time was to be the biggest disaster of them all. Not only did my feet come up from the floor, but in an effort to do the crunch, my arms went flailing, and I half-used my elbows to come up. A somewhat pained feeling in my stomach told me that this was not what was defined as a successful Crunch.

Sigh. Maybe I was destined to stay chubby. It was time for my siesta after that bit of realisation.. At least it was half a crunch and well, half a push up.

2006-11-21T01:24:00.000+05:30

FREE, FREAK, FREAKED!

Stage I: School days, where I was caught dreaming away to glory ever so often by my Biology teacher. I loved looking at plants outside the window; she didn't get that I didn't care that it was Nephrolepis and possessed sporangia. Most teachers chose to ignore me, the tiny scrawny kid with the huge head of hair. I didn't mind the anonymity, I was scared of the spotlight anyway. From the one time I was pushed onto stage to act the role of "Mr. Blockhead" (yes, yes, very much to my misery) to the rare presentation on The Old Squire, I mostly managed to wriggle out of anything that brought me within view of the public eye.

Stage II: The third bench from the back and staring blankly at a board with z=x+iy scrawled all over it. Utter boredom and no comprehension whatsoever.. Complex numbers, the bane of my existence. I found some respite in the fact that at least nobody pulled me up for dreaming here.. but then came Communication Skills. My phone bill said I should be good at it.. but then that was the result of talking to just one at a time, unlike my final CS presentation. I'd stood holding, in sweaty cold hands, a half-damp piece of paper with 50 lines on it. I'd spent the last six hours reading it over and over again, committing every syllable to memory. When I did start speaking, I was ghostly white and stammering. What clinched the entire stage show was the wide eyed stare that went around the classroom for a good three minutes after a draft blew the paper from my hand.

Stage III: Five years and an MBA later, the wide-eyed stare is, now, apparently not Scared, but Scary. Or so Some say:P I still prepare for a good three hours before a 20 minute presentation, so when I was told I would have to train a group of sales guys with role-playing and self-discovery sessions included, I was all ready to squeeze myself out of the restroom window. I was to teach the Art of Selling without having sold a thing in my life. I was to solve problems I didn't even know existed.

After walking in circles the entire night with a ten page long Word doc, it was time to face one of my biggest fears- carrying on an interactive session with 15 people who faced the realities of life and rejection in the field every single day.. for three whole hours. I didn't start with a bang or close with one, but I managed to get through the morning with some amount of grace and dignity.

A mountain out of a molehill? Maybe. But it also helped that only half the intended number turned up :)

2006-09-09T01:39:00.000+05:30

'TRIPLEY'

Two years ago, if somebody had told me I'd be doing a triple seater journey on a bike all the way to Pizza Hut and back on a crowded Friday evening, I would probably have snorted at the thought. I was a little wary of bikes, having fallen off a scooter into a ditch once long, long ago.

After two years of post grad at a place which was only accessed by personal vehicles and crazy tuk-tuk wallahs, I now enjoy bike travel. It is easy, convenient, and fun when people stare at you traveling with your face covered like a dacoit:)

And now, riding Tripley has been the most fun ever:D

It all started with my friend asking me to hop on the bike behind her.. and her friend. "People are staring," I said to her, trying get her to stop scooting ahead on the seat to make place for me. We were in the middle of a busy road on a weekday morning, with people all around us. "Just sit!!" she said. Wondering how I was supposed to fit myself in what appeared to be two inches of space, I put one leg across to the other side and wriggled a little. Miraculously, it looked as though the three of us could manage.

As we whizzed through busy lanes, people around us seemed flummoxed. I was embarrassed, yet a trifle tickled. Just when they'd been thinking, "There go two normal people on a bike.." up popped a third head at the back:)

It is now fun to look at people and grin gleefully at them looking quizzically at us. It is even more fun to watch them wait for ricks knowing you don't have to do it so often anymore. From going dignifiedly up the stairs at a Pizza Hut a year ago, I now turn up on a bike, almost falling off the back, grin cheekily at waiters who've seen us ride up and walk in with two other people who are laughing just as hard as I am:)

2006-08-02T03:00:00.000+05:30

FIVE MINUS THREE

Four years ago, four girls stood at Sahar Airport to watch their fifth walk off. They crossed the road to stand staring over the parking lot, looking for privacy. The darkness hid tears. It felt like the end of an era.

A year later, on a fine sunny morning, each was surprised to jumping joy by a knock on their door and a smile that they hadn't seen in a long, long time..

Another year was up. Another goodbye was said. Five were reduced to four again.

Numbers were falling like skittles. A couple of months, another airport visit, another one down. One more to go, three to say goodbye, one to listen on the phone to the sounds of farewell.

Tonight. The number reduces to two. Another has promised to come back soon. We've seen that before, we've heard that before. We know what that means. It means there will be a month every two years where we will possibly see them. It means the intention to keep in touch is alive, but work and distance might take their toll. It means that the count will always be five, but the heads present will never add up.

It means, painfully, that life goes on.

2006-07-15T01:15:00.000+05:30

A-HUNTING, WE GO!!

I remember when I first heard a mention of Murphy’s Laws- I’d spent twenty minutes standing in a line at the railway station for a ticket, only to finally have the window slam in my face (near the top of my head, actually. I was ridiculously short even at age 12, till I discovered the miraculous bull-worker). My mom had given up her place in a parallel line because I’d reached the window faster. She looked at the timing above to note that the guy had shut the window five minutes before lunch time, barked out something that sounded like "Gah!! Murphy's Law!!", and sought the shortest line.

Since then, I notice everything Murphy-esque. Hunting for houses in Bangalore was full of such incidents. As advised by the localites, my roommate and I would go pick up the papers that carried ads for rental houses. After an hour of laboriously pouring over tiny print and circling what looked even remotely interesting, we’d begin calling up numbers to schedule appointments. First, we’d end up continuously hitting brokers, mostly through ads that had blatantly announced, “Brokers Excuse Please”. After managing to find a house advertised by an owner (one out of every five), we’d find them asking, “You are family coming??”, to which we would reply, “No, we’re two girls.” “Oh, Bachelors!!!!” Eh?

After finally managing to talk to an owner who was okay with us bachelors, and scheduling an appointment, we’d take off to look at what might be our future house. Our enthusiasm was undaunted and unrepressed, despite a past that was full of terrifying houses- those that faced slums, blank walls a foot away, or had windows that opened into the landlord’s house.

On one of the days, we decided to visit one of the nicest areas in the city. Very happily, we looked around at lovely street we’d landed on, and skipped all the way to the correct lane. Looking around, eyes aglow, at the pretty houses with the lovely flowers and quaint gardens, we started counting house numbers. We realised, a little warily, that what we were staring at in the ad didn’t seem to figure anywhere on the street. Calling up the phone number got us a lady who sounded educated and courteous, who told us to walk straight down the lane to the STD booth and that it was the building next to it.

As we kept walking, the houses continued to look all rosy-cheeked and inviting. Things were going good. Maybe we’d finally find what we wanted. We spotted an STD booth… then thought that that couldn’t possibly be the building.. nobody could ask for 10 grand a month for that dump! And the house numbers didn’t add up anyway. As luck would have it, they did. We’d forgotten that there could suddenly be a No. 16A, a 16B and a 16C. Just before the desired No.17.

We now know how to find a house.
1. If there’s a long line of lovely houses and one miserable house at the very end, then that’s it.
2. If one side of the lane has great-looking cottages, then it is definitely not on that side.
3. If there are two neat looking houses and the third has dirty underwear hanging on the balcony, then that’s the one up on rent.
4. If you reach a nice looking residential lane, and there’s a creepy-looking guy pointing to a tiny by-lane, then he’s the broker.

And if you think you’ve finally found the house you want, then your boss thinks of posting you outside the city.

2006-05-25T00:20:00.000+05:30

TAKEN FOR A RIDE..

In a city as crowded as Bombay, where everybody is always in a hurry, it is not easy to manage to flag a cab or a rick. And it does not help that I'm perpetually ten minutes late.

As I rushed out of the house for a meeting that was to happen within the next five minutes, I ran past the watchman- who, as I could see reflected in the glass, rolled his eyes, much to my indignation. I scampered out onto the road towards the spot where there were normally a long line of ricks. As I should have learnt by now, there had to be just the one lone one, standing forlornly but impatiently.

I started towards it, and suddenly saw a lady sneaking towards my rick from the opposite direction. As I quickened my pace, I saw her lift her saree skirts and run. She managed to get there quicker than I did-- me having lost a few seconds to the shock of seeing the act of running in a saree.

I managed to get a rick a couple of minutes later. As luck would have it, it was the most rickety piece of machinery possible, with a driver who more than made up for it with the amount he spoke. He criticised everything and everybody in sight- the people drive today, how things were in his day, and how the damned policeman always picks on guys who drive well i.e. himself.

As I crossed my fingers that my phone wouldn't ring to ask where I was, my eyes kept darting to the meter. Was it my imagination or was the idiotic thing falling faster than ever?! I made up my mind to pay just so much, and no more. After stopping creakily at each possible signal, we were at the very last one. How is it that I always manage to just miss it, only to have to wait till the FIVE out of six other lines are done??!! As if in mock sympathy, the meter clicked loudly, and fell one more time.

When I finally got there, I was twenty minutes late, and in no mood to argue. I gave the driver whatever he asked for, smiled politely when he said something about "Aaj kal ke bacche, always in a rush", and ran off.

Bah, I wonder what Murphy had to say about ricks.

2006-05-16T01:27:00.000+05:30

WAYLAID!!

I've often been stopped and asked directions. Unless I'm caught in my area, I'm pretty blank most of the time- although sometimes I do manage a sheepish grin.. I only know how to go where I want to, and I march straight there, with Direction and Purpose.

As I sauntered towards Ruia to meet G late one evening, I was in my own world, desperately trying to get the loony tune of the "Aashiqui" song from 36, China Town out of my mind. Even shaking my head vigorously (the way dogs do it) from time to time hadn't helped. Jerking me out of my reverie, a voice bleated, "Maa-dam, maaaa-dam!!". On the dimly lit road and under the shadow of a tree, it was creepy. I turned to see a white-haired old lady in a white saree peering out of a darkened taxi, and my hair stood on end. Luckily, all she said was, "Bhagini Samaaj kahaan hai?"

I shrugged to show I didn't know, and then backed away hurriedly, only to walk a few metres to get caught by a bent old beggar man who wouldn't let me go. Honestly, he wasn't in the least bit scary. But I was already jumpy. I groped in my purse for change, shoved some in his bowl and scampered away.

As I warily slipped into my China Town mode again after a while, I was almost at my destination when I realised that a Face had popped up right next to me. A face surrounded by long hair- black at the bottom and an unnatural brown along the receding hairline. The eyes and cheeks were sunken, and there were pockmarks all over. Thankfully, there was a body too.

"Excuse me, I've been following you for quite a while.."
"Eh??!!" Shocked by how bold the statement was, I jumped back a shaky step.
"I'm from so-and-so college," (I missed the name), "and I was wondering if you would like to attend our Socials at Velocity.."
Whaaa.. ?! "Err, no, sorry, not interested."
"But it's FREE." He beamed to show teeth that were a bit too white in the creepy night. I peered, tremulously, looking for long canines.
"No, thanks, I'm not interested," I repeated, loudly, and started walking away quickly.
"But you can bring your friends too, and it's FREEEE!!!" He must have previously had success with the F-word, I thought, in a moment of rationality. He then pulled out passes to the event and tried to show them to me. As I shook my head and turned away purposefully, he said, "But why not??!!"
"I'm busy," I said as I scuttled away from the third chilling encounter that evening.

As I reached a more populated area, I heaved a sigh. I was no longer thinking of 36, China Town. There were now visions of huge teeth, pale faces, and blood-curdling yowls.

2006-04-28T20:18:00.000+05:30

YES SIR, YES SIR, THREE BAGS FULL

I'd always been a curly-haired kid, but as I grew older, my head began looking more and more like a beehive. It was called a brush, a mop, and a bird's nest, and was used as a pencil holder by the girls who sat behind me in school. Cut as short as possible, it would grow to two storeys high within a fortnight. It would never just sit on my head. I would manage to stuff a hairband somewhere in there for school discipline's sake, but it could never manage to go round the mop to reach my ears.

As years have passed and I've decided to try a long-haired look, it still remains unruly. I decided that all shampoos and conditioners were absolutely useless, and that I would have to do something drastic. I was, as informed by a friend, a "Hair Virgin". A weirdly funny term, this apparently means somebody who has not straightened, curled, streaked, coloured, or experimented in any other way. Mighty miffed at being categorized, I decided it was time.

Striding purposefully into the parlour, I asked for my hair to be straightened, and the lady stated her price. As I sat down on the seat and she got a got a good look at what she was in for, the mirror reflected her horror-struck face and eyes that bulged out of their sockets. She immediately upped and almost doubled her price.

I demanded to be told the reason, silently daring her to call my head the broom that it was. She muttered, "Kitna baal hai!!!" and rushed out to confer with the boss lady. I could hear her trying to pass the buck, and the boss came in trying to explain that it would take more than an hour and usage of lots of "electrick-city" to get the job done.

Amidst round-eyed stares and young beauticians sniggering in the background, the straightening was done in two hours flat. Each hair on my head had been examined. My scalp was checked to see how many strands came out of each pore. It was wondered whether they had ever seen hair this curly. It was then disdainfully stated that it had a rebellious mind of its own, where one side would spring back to its twisted self as soon as attention was paid to another.

I came away feeling like I'd been poked and prodded at under a microscope, but as I sashayed in front of the mirror I realised that I now had hair that would fall back down if lifted on my head, and not remain perpendicular to the ground.

I was a poodle no more. It was time for the silky-headed spaniel that knew how to Sit.

:)

2006-04-11T17:25:00.000+05:30

THE WOOLY-WOOLY FEELING

I have always felt decidely pleased with the excellent nature of my constitution, one that lets me tuck wholeheartedly into anything vegetarian, without taking a turn for the worse. It has been game for all kinds of food, and has even helped out-eat a few condescending boys, who, misled by the frail-looking outline, thought it wasn't even a challenge :)

But today, to my despair, it decided to act up. Out on a shopping spree, in the cool comfort of a luxurious car, it felt like something was jumping about inside. "Urgh", I said to myself, "I should have eaten something before I left." It had happened a couple of times before, but I tried to squish the idea. Half the health problems in the world are psychological, I thought.

It jumped again. Higher this time. There appeared to be a tiny, hyperactive creature inside, using my stomach like a trampoline. The feeling kept coming higher and higher up, till I wondered if I wanted to burp. Well, I couldn't. I was on my best behaviour in good company. Maybe if I tried to smother the sound..

Didn't help. We got to our destination, and finished shopping to go on to lunch. Miraculously, the feeling was gone. I smiled at my tummy as one would to a good, well-mannered child. Back to the car we went, but I wasn't worried.

About ten kilometres down the highway, I felt, what can only be described as a 'wooly' feeling. Nothing jumped this time, but it felt as if my food pipe had been stuffed with rolls of cotton wool. Polite conversation gave way to silence, as I tried to squish the need to belch. It appeared, horror of horrors, that The Stomach disliked good cars!!!!!!!

After many minutes of speculation, I resigned to the fact my tummy had an aversion to Quality. It broke my heart. My dreams of a Jaguar someday seemed to crash, and I could see myself travelling only in tumbledown buses and bumpy cars, with only The Stomach for company.

Two hours of sighing and feeling extremely sorry at the desertion of my pride and joy, I now have a vision of myself, wrapped from head to toe, in an ST bus, looking resignedly at the boy in the next seat who throws up outside the window. My middle, meanwhile, purrs happily at having got its way.

2006-04-02T03:41:00.000+05:30

LETTING GO..

It has been a week of farewells, of not wanting to say so, but knowing I have to. Every action reminds me that this is possibly the last time. I once decided never to let my blog get even a wee bit personal, that it would always be about fun and frolic.. this is, in a way, a fond and slightly misty farewell to many..

Two years ago, I entered a place which I felt took me away from home. I sulked, I cried, and I accused it of taking Bombay away from me. I withdrew into my shell, till most people thought little of me or thought very little. And then I ran into those who made the succeeding two years some of the most precious amongst many...

I've often wondered over the past two weeks why I wasn't getting sentimental. Even when I looked at a time counter that said Zero Hour, I didn't feel any different. I knew I loved this place- the people, the times, every inch of the campus. I've had my favourite spots- the fun ones, the sentimental ones and those for introspection. I knew exactly what I'd miss about this place when I was done here, yet it didn't seem as if I'd never come back this time I left.

I didn't realise how I went from absolute good humour to feeling a stab in less than a minute. As I took out my camera to make sure I could remember each spot in my room, I realised how one brown carton made the entire scene look different. I kept snapping pictures till I even had one of the position in which I've kept my slippers on my mat for the past year. As I thought of pulling off my post-its, I knew that even if I kept them forever, they would never look right unless on that cupboard.

I wandered out to the familiar sight of the tree in the dim courtyard, and walked over crunchy grass to the subtle light of our favourite lamp post area. Looking over the mess lawns and back at all the memories, I knew I'd miss even the lone pigeon which sat on a bathroom window each night. As mosquitoes bit my foot, I felt I ought to move away, but I couldn't drag my eyes away from the vision that was such a regular sight. Even, if ever, with all the characters, the act wouldn't seem the same without the setting and the scene..

I've tried to commit each detail to memory, but I know images will blur as time goes by. There are those who I'll always keep in touch with, but there are those I shared a fleeting friendship with-- those that I may never even share stupid jokes with again, and I know I'll miss like crazy. I can't express myself in flowery language, I haven't managed it even in the Yearbook- and I've realised that two years' worth of memories are impossible to pen.

As I write this, it gets more difficult by the minute. I've never been great with goodbyes, I wish I didn't have to leave. What began as a fond farewell, shows me that I now grieve.

To those who I'll really miss- you know who you are.

2006-03-25T04:10:00.000+05:30

THE CHASE OF THE GLEEFUL LIZARD

A hostel exposes you to all sorts of things, right from the freedom of having your own tiny space to the ordeal of protecting it from the millions of creatures that choose, of all rooms, only yours.

I've got a little more than a week left in my cosy corner, and I've often congratulated myself for having managed to keep it lizard-free, even if not frog free [No, I do not live in the deep depths of a rain forest:)] I've killed moths, acid bugs and small roaches, but a lizard I can't kill. It is just too big. They also give me the feeling of forever wanting to jump me, which is not so very nice because I'm quite jumpy and they're quite icky.

There's a tiny chink in my door, and as I came back from a very happy evening, I saw a Head poking out. There were sirens in my head which went "Eeeeeeeeee!!!!" I did not want to open the door for fear of it either a) Falling on my head, or b) Scuttling away inside my room, never to be found again. I called desperately for help, and to my rescue came my brave anti-lizard squad.

Armed with two brooms, and after building a protective wall (consisting of a laptop bag, a laundry basket, a sweater, and a slipper) safeguarding the more decorated part of the room, we decided to go to war. One was positioned outside in order to watch and inform on the retreat of the enemy, and two were poised for action inside: one scared, one brave.

Dragging the cupboard in true manner of a scared rookie, I let out a shriek even though I didn't see it.. erm, got a lil caught in the moment.. Then I saw a beady eye gleam from around the corner. It smelt fear, glinted and hopped out onto the wall very friskily. I looked desperately towards Jo, who brandished the broom fearlessly and decided to swat it like a fly. It hopped a little more, and as I let out another squeal, turned and looked down at me jubilantly. Brave Jo then whacked the area around it, and it realised it had met its match. It grew wary, decided that it did not want to lose face, scuttled to the laptop bag, turned its still-attached tail and ran out of the door. We heard the victory squeal from Dee as she whacked the vent and shooed it to a galaxy far, far away.

My room was a mess but we were happy. My chamber is now lizard-free, thanks to those who are braver than I:) The chink in the door lies plastered with paper, and as I lie battle-weary, I know I shall shudder when I dream of the Glint of the Gleeful lizard.

2006-03-24T02:18:00.000+05:30

SHOPPING WHEN HUNGRY = 250 BUCKS WORTH OF JUNK FOOD:(

Sleeping late makes me awaken late, apart from generally being the lazy sort. It also makes me miss breakfast and lunch at the mess, and have very high expectations of tea. This, very naturally (and, as ought to always be foreseen), leads to disappointment and a very hungry tummy.

I then end up making plans for excellent cheese and white sauced restaurants. Closest and verrrry interesting, is Bombay Blue. Very unfortunately, right next to it, lies Big Bazaar, one that houses almost everything but what I need, and the longest queues and the slowest Gujjus.

All I needed when I wandered in was a bottle of body wash, some chocolates (yes, yes, sometimes one needs chocolates!!!) and a giant packet of green Lays. I picked up the bottle and sauntered into the crunchies section, looking straight ahead and really making an effort to not stare greedily at all other kinds of food when drooling. I wished I had blinders. I felt a slow dribble forming as I caught sight of chocolate-chipped biscuits. Just one pack, I told myself. My sneaky eye caught hold of a pack of Haldiram's Bhujia Sev, and my brow tweaked itself.

A few minutes later, I found myself rushing to the chocolate counter, carrying five items in each hand. I didn't dare pick up a basket lest I went berserk, pulled the shop down and stuffed it in. Asking for a couple of Cadbury's bars, I stared at my shoes after glaring at a lady who bought a dozen chocolates- all expensive foreign brands.

As I finally made my way out, I had a huge bag and a hole in my pocket. I'd always known I was a little demented when it came to food and shopping, but I could now forsee a future where I would spend my entire salary buying food, eating out, and hunting for couches that could take me, a gazillion bags of chips- and The Stomach.

2006-03-21T03:53:00.000+05:30

THE RETURN OF THE LOST LOVE

I am, at this moment, quite the blubbering idiot. I know not how to express my joy at seeing my baby blog back after a three day disappearance. I could never understand how women baby-talked to their men, but if I can goo-goo to a black computer screen, then.. ah, it's time I shut up:)

I remember roaming the net aimlessly, where any black templated page reminded me of Bloggy. Each time I looked up, I hoped to see Bloggy. Each time I opened the laptop, my eyes hunted for a link to Bloggy. For three days, I kept getting disappointed each time. I realised that I could not look at other blogs..

And now Bloggy is back:) I have nothing to say really, but I'm typing away to glory anyway. I can't but feel that it somehow expects me to post today:D

To the one who got my Bloggy back for me: Thank you, your mighty highness, evil queen of the Deep Blue Sea:)

2006-03-16T02:27:00.000+05:30

"GUESS WHO-OO??!!"

An unknown number calls on a fine birthday night, and a deep voice at the other end says, "Many Happy Returns of the Day!! Guess who??" Ordinarily, I would have raised an interested eyebrow at the nice voice, but the 'Guess who-ing' put me off. I normally get snappish the minute anybody starts this, but I know I should be nice when people call up to wish.. With a timer ticking away inside my head, I play along, injecting a smiling note in my voice.

"Thank you sooo much.. Can you pleeease tell me who this is?"
"Go on, guess away"
"I've no idea really.. Is it X (arbit guy's name)?" [Tick tick]
"No... but who's X? Hmm hmm, some new guy on the scene, eh?"
"Umm.. no, nobody really. Seriously now, who is this?" [Tick tick tick]
"Nobody? Hmm.. but you want it to be him, na.. Something's cooking here!!"
"Nothing's cooking anywhere. (Voice turning cold) I think it is time you tell me who you are now. I'm kinda done guessing." [Tick tick TICK]
"No no, you've gotta guess.. Come on, give it another shot. You Know Me.."
"Really? (Face turning red) Oh, are you-- sorry, second call, will be right back!!" [Beep]

As I discovered much later, it turned out to be a friend's (boorish) friend, somebody I am no longer connected with.

It is even more difficult when relatives do it, because then there is no way one can afford to be considered rude. One does not want the family name to be sullied due to lack of control over temper. So even at weddings and marriage receptions, when asked, point blank, "Sooo, do you recognise me?", you politely nod agreement, all smiles. You hope he will not ask you to tell him who he is, whilst all the time racking your brains. You desperately cross fingers, hoping for a timely interruption. You dart a sneaking glance here and there, looking for help. Your eyes fall upon gleeful looking siblings, who have been through the same ordeal minutes before, escaping unscathed. You turn back, smile uncomfortably, and ask him how he has been doing.

He will, unfailingly, turn out to be the old neighbour-uncle who dandled you on his knee at your maternal grandfather's house when you were five.

Having a very bad memory for voices and and even worse one for faces, I've discovered that the only solution is to pray- for a second call or for Mom :)

2006-03-15T17:01:00.000+05:30

OVER AND DONE WITH:)

I've stayed up for goodness knows how many nights in a row, burning the midnight oil and bursting a bulb, and now I feel totally content with a fat thesis in my kitty and nothing to do for the next few days:) At the peak of thesis work, when rushing to make the deadline, I've felt sleepy at 1 a.m (which I haven't felt in years!), felt extremely sorry for myself, and promptly fallen asleep in a chair, on the keypad, and in the library.

It has been a craazy time, and one would expect that I'd want to get some sleep as soon I could get to my bed, but I got very frisky after I was done and pranced all over the place, especially in Dee's room. So much so, that I managed to catch my first ever daybreak here :D Since then, it has been a relaxed period of doing so much of nothing, it's sinful :)

I can now lie down, prop my laptop on my tummy, open a word doc, and not type.. without feeling guilty!!!!
I can watch movies till 6.30 a.m. and wake up at 3 p.m.
I can buzz people on G-talk and say "What you doing?" and know fully well they're not doing anything either :D
I can give people a snooty, triumphant "Why-shouldn't-I be?!" look when they say "You were asleep at 2 p.m.?!" :D
I can wake up, waggle a gleeful finger at a clock that says 8.40 a.m., and plop back off to sleep :)

I know most of my treats are related to requiring sleep, sleep and more sleep, but then being a poor sleep-deprived person is not easy, you know. I dread the day when I have to start work and keep regular hours, when I'll have to wake up 7 a.m. and go to bed like a good little working girl at 11 p.m.

Though, very honestly, I can see more chances of me sleeping late, awaking late and falling alseep on the job than that happening:D

2006-03-09T01:34:00.000+05:30

BORED BEYOND BELIEF

The temptation to blog right now comes at the most inopportune of moments. With a truckload of thesis work pending (visions of a huge weighing scale with me sitting in one pan and losing to a tiny book bound in black in the other..), and a bed that temptingly tweaks its finger at me, I refrain from pressing Alt+Tab at this moment.

I've been arbitly copy-pasting from academic articles and journals for the past two hours, after an evening which I spent randomly saying "Poop!!!" at regular intervals to poor Dee, for reasons unknown. I've now checked my mail three times (even though Gmail has those little pop-ups), checked Orkut twice (even though Gmail would have popped up to notify), combed my hair, filled water, and compared three different versions of "Neele Neele Ambar Par". I'm borrrrrred and I'm looking for more time wasting activities (TWA, as pop would say)..

The clock is fast galloping past 2 a.m.-- the time limit I'd given myself before I absolutely have to work. But then my conscience rests easy.. the limit was first 12.30, then 1.15, then 1.45, 1.50, 1.55 :D Even though I think it is pointless, I shall still strive to try and get work done tonight. And then maybe I'll sleep late tomorrow morning.. maybe I can get up after lunchtime..

Think I'll just curl up for a little while.. only a couple of minutes..

2006-03-06T19:18:00.000+05:30

HMMM...

After a craazy, but lovely week, I seem to be doing a lot of soul-searching and wondering. Now, I'm not the kind that normally broods over the past. I'm reminiscent and I'm nostalgic, but I'm rarely emotional-- to the extent of being jokingly called a robot with an ice cold, stony heart:D

The week began with me realizing that I've got a tonne of work to be done before G landed on campus, and this was not counting thesis work. After finishing a very rushed book presentation and muddling through my International Marketing report, I managed to wake up at 7.30 a.m. [yes, yes, ME!! And this shall always remain a feather in my cap:) ] in time for G's bus.

We spent a lazy weekend and a night where we discussed everything we haven't managed to in the past year. We even spoke of love, hate and infidelity. We watched Sex and the City, with large pauses as related topics were initiated in between and gossiping was necessary:) It has been ages since we arbitly walked around and unconcernedly discussed anything and everything, staying awake till 5 a.m.

I had the loveliest time ever, and as I returned to an empty room, I realised how much I missed people back home. As I thought over all that we spoke of, and looked at an old classmate's photo album today, I saw that people have moved on, saw how much they've achieved, the shortcomings they've made peace with. Some of them are now very happy.

Not-so-arbitly wondering: In many ways, I'm still at the same place I was five years ago- dissatisfied. Do I want what I can't get, or do I want it because I can't get it?

I'm not sad or sentimental, purely dispassionately analytical. But I still want to see light at the end of my tunnel.

2006-03-02T00:09:00.000+05:30

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL

Waking up to sounds of a lot of bustle, I heard people say, "What've you got to get done?" and "Lemme know when you've finished, I'm after you". I opened a bleary eye to squint at myself in the mirror. I needed to get in line. My eyebrows looked like they'd multiplied and decided to fall, one right below my nose. I wish I'd managed to convince myself it was a shadow.

I analysed whether I really needed to get my upper lip done (well, it hurts like crazy, so I naturally try to postpone indfinitely). No mirror likes me in the morning-- and such a ghastly picture naturally puts me in very bad humour. Anyway, I plodded off to find the beautician, a once-in-three-weeks miracle.

When it was finally time, I was well armed-- I had my rolls of tissue ready. Surprisingly, the woman was gentle [.. this is somehow sounding perverse..] She didn't bare her teeth, stare at my mouth in a bloodthirsty manner and then make a go for my face. It hurt lesser this time, but it still reaches infinity :(

I don't think any man will ever understand this.. except Joey. I have to mention him. He's been through eyebrow-shaping and waxing, the darling:) Hmm, the sadist in me wants him to get his upper lip done tooooo!!!!! Bwahhaahahhaha!!!!!!!

But the end result is such a relief.. I don't have to get it done again for three whole weeks!!! Hallelujah!!!!!!!

Things I desperately needed today: tissue, cold cream, ice, ice, ice!!!

2006-02-25T02:08:00.000+05:30

FINDING NEMO

Having never taken a fancy to cartoons, I've never got around to really watching animation movies. The few that I've come across, I've never really liked (like Shark Tales)-- except one, Shrek. There was something about that movie that charmed-- the ugly-but-good ogre in love with the once-beautiful princess? Donkey? Puss-in-boots? Wicked Fairy? All of these put together? I don't know, but I loved Shrek, right from his stubby green ears to clumsy big feet.

Finding Nemo, which I've only just managed to watch, is one of the cutest movies I've ever come across. It actually had me excited when Nemo came close to escaping from the tank and had me grimace each time the screen went dark to depict that all was lost-- normally, in the insides of a creepy big whale/shark. I doubt I've ever displayed so much animation when watching a regular movie. Nemo's struggle to be treated as more than a kid, the once-bitten father unable to let go, the continuous battle to get out of the tank-- each had a charm of its own. The cutest were the turtle babies, which were "Like, so cool, dude!!!!!!!":D One of the funniest lines in the movie is when Dory and Marlin are lost, and she goes, "What is it with men and asking for directions?!"

I adored Nemo. With his huge eyes and I-want-to-explore attitude (which turned into an adorable I-want-Daddy one), it was the innocence that made me go "Awwww". Somebody once told me that it is easier to make a personality endearing if there are small flaws. Nemo had his little lucky fin, which whirred around at top speed to keep him steady. Dory had her short-term memory and an obsession for fish-languages. Marlin, an over-protective father, had his fear of the ocean. Deb, who thinks her reflecton is her sister and the vegetarian sharks, who lose focus of their objective when they smell blood. From start to finish, the characters have quirks and idiosyncrasies and I've loved the movie more because of the nutty flaws than despite them.

Arbitly wondering: Is it really the flaws in a person that make him endearing? If so, then why do we always look for perfection?

2006-02-22T21:53:00.000+05:30

LEAKY NOSE, LEAKY NOSE..

The worst possible time to catch a cold is when there's work to be done. Can hardly read because my eyes won't stop filling up. Can't concentrate because I'm trying to find a tissue in time to catch the sneeze. To top it off, the book to be reviewed is extreeemely boring.

Have ultimately decided to stuff wads of tissue up my nostrils- theory seems fine on paper, now waiting for a sneeze to prove/disprove it. Also prepared to jump up and hunt for more tissue in case current ones go flying out.

Have also realised, over the years, that the horizontal position [;)] is good when it comes to colds. One sneezes much lesser when flat on back. Stuffing face with food is also a good idea. But then, stuffing face with food is always a good idea:)

Now down by 3 wads of tissues, 1 handkerchief, n sneezes and 1 blogpost, the book reading still stands at Chapter 1.

2006-02-21T21:46:00.000+05:30

LEISURE

W.H. Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

From having all the time in the world right now, I can't believe I won't even have time to breathe in two months. On the upside, may the days away from Bombay fly by.. Sighhhhh

2006-02-11T02:10:00.000+05:30

GUTTERBUG

Bowling has always been fascinating. It was something that Archie and gang often did, where Reggie always managed a strike while Dilton calculated the angle of strike. The one who lost treated the gang to sundaes at Pop Tate's.

Unexpectedly, Ahmedabad has a Bowling Alley, plonk in the middle of FR, where most of the Gujjus who hang out make sure they're really dressed up for a day out. This particular alley has weird rules- they let only two people play each game. Highly illogical, considering that there's no way to continue playing limitlessly.

After weighing the bowling balls (pardon the language), deciding which were the lightest (uh-oh..), we began the game to the tune of "Dil Le Gayi Kudi Gujarat ki..." to realise that that particular alley had a strong slope towards the left. This would obviously mean that we ought to throw more to the right.. but throw left or right, it would end up as a gutter ball. With each gutterball, the screen would pop a funny cartoon of bowling pins which effectively dodge the ball. They would jump off tables, run around corners or just skip and the ball would miss em. Argh, you could almost hear them go "Bwahahahaha!!!!!!!"

With two of us aiming for the left gutter and two for the right, we had a total of 23 gutters within 3 games. Even though I suck at the game, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Apparently, I aim to miss the pins. Wish that had been the objective, I could have played pro. Would also have then bought me a nice pair of bowling shoes. Hmm..

Maybe I should play a fixed cricket match.. isn't that where one aims to miss?

2006-02-08T14:00:00.000+05:30

TERMS OF ENDEARMENT

The names I've been called over the years.. One would wonder what I'd done to deserve each one, but I maintain that I just happen to have a creative lot of friends who are a tad bit crazy:)

Munni: Nicknamed so by my brother before I could gurgle even, after a woman who I think was his very first crush.
Molly: Pop's choice. Time to wangle whatever I want when he uses this.
Dotty: Shortened form of daughter. Was discovered when I was in pigtails and just a lil over 4 feet. Unfortunately led to "Potty Dotty".
Andoo: Courtesy my egg-shaped face and Minal.
"Pandhri Paal": Literally translated, means "White Lizard". Urgh. Couldn't then fathom why my nutty pals drew that equation, but after all that has happened lately, I credit them their excellent foresight.
Cdee: A hangover of bygone days, and a friendship that ended unfortunately.
Anjy: Never been called this before, but it was decided that the regular nicks were too boring. Oh, the ones that were yet to come!!!!
Gooey: All cause I have what appears to be an unnatural interest in the most basic functions of the human body:D
Snoobie: Short for Snooty B****. Ah, my friends louuu me soooo muchhh!!! All cause I fancy luxury and am (supposedly) a bit of a snob. Pooh!
Half-Ticket: Was initially used by a single person, but appears to be catching on. Why do I get the feeling that people don't take me seriously?!
Cribby: One tiresome assignment and all my grumpy mornings.. plus Jonty.
A'Loo: Credited due to my rather gruesome bathroom escapades. A messy toilette, if there ever was one.

Being fairly normal and I have an entire list to pen down. Wonder what would have happened if I was weird..

2006-02-08T01:59:00.000+05:30

KACHCHA NEEMBU

She hovered along the sidelines, in the manner of a typical raw lemon. She didn't really want to play, but had decided that to continue digging her heels in would get embarassing. She had checked out, during the course of other games, that rawer (or so she thought) lemons only hovered on the outskirts, and hence continued to do so in the true spirit of raw lemonry.

A game played by fourteen people frisking around a single tennis ball and seven rocks, Pitthoo aka Lagori was entirely based on firstly deconstructing and then reconstructing a pile of the aforesaid 7 rocks.

She knew she'd fling the ball once at the damn pile ("Why did it have to be placed at such a distance anyway?!") but could generally retire to being a non-entity on the field whilst occasionally indulging in a bit of dodgery. Thus content, she took up her position in the field with a decent degree of composure. The guys seemed to fling the ball about for a few minutes, while she looked on, wondering whether she was in the way. The ball suddenly flew past her, and she realised she had to chase the thing that bounced happily away. It would assuredly have a winked a wicked wink if this had been a comic strip.

Around the corner she followed it, and managing to grab it, whirled around. Awright, moment of truth. She had to chuck it-- "underarm"-- around the building. This, she supposed, called for some true-blue bending like Beckham. If she estimated correctly, everything was supposed to move in slow motion from right about this point. She flung it as hard as she could and watched it as it flew (hmm.. quite high) right at the building and ricocheted off into what could only be termed as the outside of the field. Definitely not moment of glory.

Bah! If this had been a movie, the ball would have made it not only past the blind corner, but would also have landed bang on target. She would then have been hoisted on shoulders whilst wearing a horrendously shiny uniform, probably yellow.

They did manage to win ultimately, and she trudged to the stands with a smile on her face. Heheheh, she'd done one great bit of dodging. She'd also turned back to the attacker to quirk an eyebrow to convey her "AHA!!".

She would play again tomorrow. Even she hadn't got it all rawng:)

Note: Third person fits will probably happen from time to time. Would love to occasionally throw in the odd "Thy" terminology too:D

2006-02-07T01:42:00.000+05:30

BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY

Bridget Jones's Diary, author Helen Fielding. Extremely funny book. Makes passers-by wonder whether apparently alone-in-her-room woman of substance is queer in head, as giggles away to glory.

"Why can't married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? (i.e. 'How's your love-life going') "We wouldn't rush up t them and roar, 'How's your marriage going? Still having sex?' "
"Skirt is demonstrably neither sick nor abscent. Appalled by management's blatently sizist attitude to skirt. Obsessive interest in skirt suggests management sick rather than skirt."
“It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth and power but the pursuit of attainable goals: and what is a diet if not that?”
"Humph. Have woken up v. fed up. On top of everything, only two weeks to go until birthday, when will have to face up to the fact that another entire year has gone by, during which everyone else except me has mutated into Smug Married, having children plop, plop, plop, left right and centre and making hundreds of thousands of pounds and inroads into very hub of establishment, while I career rudderless and, boyfriendless through dysfunctional relationships and professional stagnation."
"Exes should never, never go out with or marry other people but should remain celibate to the end of their days in order to provide you with a mental fallback position."
“We had a long discussion about the comparative merits of Mr. Darcy and Mark Darcy, both agreeing that Mr. Darcy was more attractive because he was ruder but that being imaginary was a disadvantage that could not be overlooked.”

Some Favourites: Emotional F***wittage, Smug Married, "Oh, my godfathers, darling!!!"

2006-01-06T11:16:00.000+05:30

THE BLACK CAT

The month of January each year sees so much of depression, despair, helplessness and noticeably little excitement amongst the 22- 26 year olds. One of the most difficult exams in the country, no other seems to freak people out so much. I guess it is because it is now about where you are headed, how your career is shaping up etc which makes it feel like this is going to be either all or nothing.

The CAT mania is such that students who have already entered the supposedly "not-so-good" management colleges keep giving it even after spending 2.5 lakh on their first year. Anything and everything seems justified if it gets you into one of the big 6.

I'm so glad I'm over and done with it. I know friends who are two years on either side of me who are attempting the CAT, many for the third time. There are very few who can manage to waltz into the examination room and still walk out with a 99.9 percentile. My brother is one such freak:D After my dad did everything but write the paper for him, having to literally kick him out of the house to make him write the paper does no justice to that kind of a score!! Love you, you crazy nut:)

To G: Hang in there. It has got to happen some day. We both have our own plans for the future, we'll make those reeeeally happen. And we're all here for you:)

2006-01-04T15:00:00.000+05:30

WHAT DOES IT COST TO HAVE A CELEBRATION?

I'm posting a forwarded mail here-- not something I really like doing, but kinda identified with this one [:) to G]. Hence, here goes.

1. A winter evening.

Four friends.

One barsaat.

Four glasses of chai.

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2. Hundred bucks of gas.

A rusty old bike.

And an open road.

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3. Rain on a hot tin roof.

Pakoras deep-frying.

Neighbours dropping in.

A party.

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4. You and mom.

A summer night.

A bottle of coconut oil.

A head massage.

Gossiping about absent family members.

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5. 3 old friends.

3 separate cities.

3 coffee mugs.

1 internet messenger.

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6. Maggi noodles.

A hostel room.

4.25 a.m.

:):)

2006-01-04T00:49:00.000+05:30

IT'S ONE OF THOSE DAYS..

I'm in a very serious mood. The brooding type. All I do when somebody cracks a joke is quirk an eyebrow. If I'd been a boy with this temprament permanently, I'd be a Mills & Boon hero-- minus the icy blue stare and the million dollars.

Feeling very listless, and for no reason whatsoever. On analyzing, I now conclude that I'm not satisfied with my life at all. I once read somewhere (Cosmo, was it?) that to check if you're happy with where you are in life, you should slot your life into the following categories (in no particular order) and then run it under the microscope.

Family: I'm in a cribby mood, but even after minutes of thinking, i can't find fault.. I'm very happy:)
Career: Have no idea where I'm going with this-- still feel like tearing my hair out when somebody says "define marketing/ a brand". And it does not end there. When I'm at one of my high points in enthusiasm about the supposedly bright future (and we carefully do not compare with any other B-schools here), somebody asks, "Do you know exactly what you're looking for in your career? Do you have a PLAN?" Argh.
Romance: Do I have my Abhishek Bachchan??!!!!
Physical Health: A gazillion allergies, and a nose that makes me sneeze each morning irrespective of the season. Carrying a shawl to class in the middle of the summer is not something I fancy, contrary to common perception.

1 out of 4????!!!!!!!! 25% satisfaction??!!!! GAH!!!

I normally enjoy my solemn moods, but after the above analysis, I find myself at the absolute bottom of the despondency pit.

Think I'll go watch some Friends, and pig out on some chocolate cake. One thing that's really good-- I don't have calorie-worries :)

And so that I don't read this blog in the future and go "What's with me??!!", I'm going to put this down to PMS and wipe the whole thing under the carpet. If there is such a thing as over-analyzing nothingness, this has got to be it.

2005-12-09T21:53:00.000+05:30

THE SIMPLER PLEASURES OF A COMPLICATED LIFE..

What I liked years ago, I still can't do without. There are some arbit things that give a small lil thrill in the middle of regular life.. ones which give you the "Ummm... all's right with the world and my cup runneth over" feeling-- even if it is for the wee-est of moments.

Licking the paper lid/ plate after the ice cream.
Eating ice cream when walking in the rain.
Walking in the rain.
Sitting in a cosy Volvo during a night journey and watching the rivulets of rain water run down the window pane.
How chocolate and F.R.I.E.N.D.S can get you to snap out of the worst moods.
When the cafe guy puts loads of cheese on.... well, anything.
Waking up at 8.40 to discover lectures are cancelled:)
Discovering a cadburys bar at the bottom of your drawer which you never knew you had.
When old friends pop up online and it doesn't really feel like you'd ever lost touch..
Visiting old college hangouts.
Catching up with an old flame:D
Mushroom soup on a cold winter evening.
A good sale. And the money to go shopping, of course-- else it's heartache.
Lying flat on your back and looking at the stars. Quietly.
Getting a surprise birthday party:)
Sitting on a clean beach and staring out at the sea.. even if you have nothing really to get pensive about.
Reunions. Friends though, not family:D
Overhearing somebody say something really nice about you.
Parents who think with the world of today, not yesterday.
Knowing you've got great friends:)

Before I get sentimental and my nose runneth all over the place, I'm going to stop.

2005-12-09T01:13:00.000+05:30

I'M AN AMOEBA

I'm in an extremely weird sort of grumpy mood. I know I have work to do, but I have not the least inclination to do it. Why, you ask? Because I have decided that I have a passion for nothing i.e. I have no passion in life.

My life lacks quality. The most interesting thing I've done all day is figure out how alike an amoeba I am. Lets go bit by bit.

1. cell membrane - the thin layer of protein and fat that surrounds the amoeba; it allows some substances to pass into the cell, and blocks other substances.

this is like skinny me on an extemely dispassionate day- even during what ought to be the most sentimental of moments, I realise I'm thinking "Hm.. wonder what's for lunch.."

2. contractile vacuole - a cavity within the amoeba that excretes excess water and waste; the waste is brought to the cell membrane and is then eliminated from the amoeba.

without getting into what could be the equivalent of the contractile vacuole, I realise that as of now, I live to eat.. and excrete.

3. cytoplasm - a jelly-like material that fills most of the cell; the organelles (like the nucleus) are surrounded by cytoplasm.

If you poke me, I'll ooze cheese.

4. food vacuole - a cavity within the amoeba in which food is digested

I've always felt I'm a bottomless pit...

5. nucleus - the major organelle of the amoeba, located centrally; it controls reproduction (it contains the chromosomes) and many other important functions (including eating and growth).

Don't amoeba reproduce asexually? Hm.

That would be what I'd look like if viewed from the top.. and that would typically be an okay hair day.

I'm getting to the point where I feel like a single celled organism which crawls out of bed each morning and that thinks of only one thing.. where will my daily bread come from?

Conclusion: It's placement time. And I'm undergoing reverse evolution.

2005-11-24T01:01:00.001+05:30

GIRLY TIME ;)

Spending time with the girls is soooo much fun:) Once upon a time it used to mean noisy slumber parties with a lot of jumping around and leg-pulling. That still happens today, but there's more than one kind of girl-pal fun night.. there are the serious discussions, the huddling under blanket and sipping mushroom soup, the giggling over Friends, the Malory Towers- St.Clare's periods in our lives.. we've also probably torn every person to shreds.. including each other. Character Assassination gives cheap thrills:)

I'm going to list a few of the things I'll probably think about most fondly after I'm done here..

"Veg noodle bina cabbage"... I think I shall someday write an Ode to Bhanwar Singh:D
MiCafe and Champa 7,8,11,12 ... especially 8:)
4 a.m. walks... just coz its too early to sleep
Badger, badger, badger, badger-- MUSHROOM MUSHROOM!! (thanks Deepa:))
Raspberry Dolly, Green Lays... the loves of my life
Table Tennis.. Yo Devika!!!
How NOT to do CP in class
My sidey green shawl :)
Gooey, Anjy, Kiddo, Chi Chi... and Snoobie- I love the first and last:)
Markstrat time
Harry Potter... and hairy potters:D
How much I love my laptop and Wi-Fi-- especially during lectures
Five, Six, Seven, Eight-- Steps to a hidden, fairly indecent language by Divya and me:D
Extra cheese, extra cheese, extra cheese!!!!
Upper Crust and the hairbrush adventure

... and I'm gonna keep updating.

Much as I keep running home, I love this place and some of the people I've met here.. so much so that I may not go home AT ALL next term... that'll come as a surprise to many!

2005-07-15T14:09:00.000+05:30

THE BEST FRIEND’S BOYFRIEND

Girly discussions with single friends often see statements like “The good guys are already taken…”. Disclaimer: ‘all good guys are taken’ is NOT equal to ‘all taken guys are good’. There’s many a taken guy who you think is a jerk. Problem area: Your best friend is dating him. Bigger problem: She wants the two of you to “get to know each other better”.

Keeping him at arm’s length can go for a toss when you’re expected to make polite conversation with him on the phone, chat with him online etc. etc. And its not like he wants to get pally either, but you both end up making the effort for her sake, all the while thinking that it would sooooo much simpler if you could just tell her that u don’t like each other!!! Unfortunately, no amount of good-natured effort will prevent it from resulting in you seeing lesser and lesser of her. It always begins with her trying to juggle her time between the two of you, and then ending up spending more time with him because he keeps wanting to meet her ALL the time (which is one of the reasons you think he’s a jerk.. other reasons being he’s jealous, possessive and doesn’t support her career plans). And of course, you’ve got to understand each time she cancels on you to meet him, because you know she’d understand if you’d done the same (even though you like to tell yourself you’d never do it:D)

As things turn out, you’ve got to make an effort to like him (kinda reminds me of Joey trying to get along with Janice:D) because you don’t want to end up losing her. But then, she also wants to talk to you when they’re having problems, and all the time you’re listening to her, the voice in your head goes “Dump him!!! You can definitely do better!!!!!” Now you obviously can’t say that, so all that can be done is to cross your fingers and hope she sees sense someday.

Conclusion: Even if your best friend’s dating a jerk, there’s no way you can stop seeing him.

2005-07-13T14:16:00.000+05:30

BLAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't like it. Not one bit. I try and try and try various combinations to get a blogspot, and they're all taken. Kinda reminded me of my numerous attempts to try and get an email-id without an underscore or any wierd number attached to my name-- which I've NEVER managed to get, thanks to a not very uncommon name.

I've even taken a fancy to trying for new email ids just to see what I can manage to get. heheheh its damn sidey:D I was fiddling on blogger in the very same manner, and now I've got a friend who's said she's going to make me post stuff regularly on this thingy-- my very first attempt... and quite decidedly, I'm not very proud.

Guessing right about now is when I should stop and try to get some work done. Funnily enough, putting down arbit thoughts is fun. Never expected anything the least bit exerting would catch my fancy. Surprisingly pleased with myself too. Think I'm finally waking up:) maybe I'll do more of this..